Through Hellish Eyes

There are many ways to kill a human, the fun is finding what best suits them. Yet after a thousand years of killing, it hadn’t occurred to me that I could choose the wrong victim. Yet in this land of Un there is a man by the name of Journey. To some he is the traveler, the ever wandering hero. To others he is the twice cursed one, the half-breed of war and peace. To his enemies, to me, he is judgement and the herald of death. 

Not a day goes by without the retelling of this tale. I close my eyes and even now I see him. The wretched man holding dearly a corpse. They had fallen into my clever trap and they had given me the thrill of the hunt. Her pale skin was the canvas that called to be painted red. I had dealt death with my own hands and satisfaction was my reward. Foolishly I let the man live. Gracious I am, I thought to myself, I’ll let him live. Yet as I backed away, I could not help but watch as he rushed to her side. He knew as well as I that she would die, I saw it in his eyes. He was no stranger to death. Gentle he was, whispering lies to the woman as her soul left her. I know, for his words reached my ears. He spoke of saving her and of making things right. Perhaps he believed his words, but they were nothing more than mere words. 

Her head slumped and her hair, dark like shadows, covered her face. Silence stilled the wind that dared to enter my cavern lair. For a moment, my victory was pure and satisfactory. The next moment, I felt something within me that was never there before. A hundred years later, I now have a name for it. What I felt is called fear. For in the moment after my bloodlust was satisfied, the world began to shake. The man, the one I let live, roared. Words fail to describe the sound of his scream. It was something primal and beast-like as if he poured out the depths of himself into a single sound. His anguish and agony filled the air and echoed in a hellish symphony. The cry he gave pierced the heart of me and I felt the horrid weight that tore his soul apart. 

He let the corpse fall from his grasp and all became silent once again. My body, in all of its strength, refused my command to move. Though his head remained bowed, he stood up. He drew his sword and the shriek of the blade killed the silence. The sound of his footstep sent an echo of his movement rippling towards my ears. He held his blade in front of him in a dualist salute, and in that moment, my eyes saw his twisted fate. Engraved in his hand were the twinned curse marks in the image of raven’s wings. I knew then who was before me and I knew then that my death was certain. He was the one known as Journey; the one sworn to wander for endless days. Journey continued towards me at a slow and determined pace. 

Blood dripped from his white knuckled grip. His chest heaved with deep breaths to steady him. His gritted teeth were hidden by quivering lips and his eyes had no light in them. Yet something all the more terrifying caught my eye. Tears flowing down his face. After seeing such a thing my heart melted within me. This was no beast rebelling against nature without reason. This was grief sharpened for war; This was sorrow burning like a wildfire. This was rage blind to everything except me. 

He stood before me and I could only stare back at him. One last still moment passed. And in that moment I learned what true terror was. I knew what he meant to do; His broken heart would become my broken bones. He did not waste his breath on words, nor in screams. Every ounce of his pain flooded into his sword. In a flurry of movement, he tore my flesh from my bone. The blade in his hand ripped judgement through my skin. Every slash, precise. Every wound, intentional. He would not grant me a swift death until I had repaid every last drop of blood. The sword became blunt from the blows he dealt, and he let the blade fall. He continued his assault with his fists until his hands were bare of skin. Each strike struck with the strength of a bear and the swiftness of a serpent.

Cowering, I collapsed, huddled against the back of my cavern. Journey retrieved his blade and though it was dull, the blade drew blood with ease as it tasted my neck. He said nothing, but I read the words that were written in his eyes; the silent promise to destroy the very essence of me. A wordless threat to erase my existence from the pages of history. He did not blink nor did he flinch. One flick of his wrist and my life would end.

Yet death was not his plan. He let the blade drift away from me. I watched Journey sheath his sword and walk away. He stopped to pick up the body of the dark haired woman and he turned his head so I caught one last glimpse of his face. One last glimpse of the horror he could bring. A final tear rolled down his cheek dripping onto the one he carried. And with that, my executioner let me live. To avenge his lost love, he stole away all peace from my being. I would never again sleep. The nightmares of him repeat my torment each night. I will never kill again, for if I dare to crawl out of my lair, terror told me he would be waiting for me. No more death thus never again would I be satisfied. This is the curse he placed on me: To live in terror and torment for the remainder of this endless life; to desire only for a death that may never come.